


doing the right thing

by katewritessometimes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Depressed Tony Stark, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Nightmares, Other, Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 12:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katewritessometimes/pseuds/katewritessometimes
Summary: tony stark regularly struggles with doing the right thing. everything he touches dies or fails. he tries to do the right thing yet it never works out the way he plans. this time, the right thing seems impossible to reach but how can he not try?





	doing the right thing

**Author's Note:**

> THIS HAS INFINITY WAR SPOILERS PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION!!
> 
> post-endgame trailer a/n: bold of me to assume they would even let tony go home

_“I don’t feel so good… I don’t - I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t - I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go, Mister Stark, please. Please, I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go. I’m sorry...”_

 

A shuddering sob forced its way out of Tony’s throat, hands clawing at the sweat-soaked shirt that felt as if it were a vise tightly clamped around his chest. Nightmares weren’t unfamiliar to the dark-haired scientist but _fuck,_ they had only gotten worse since Titan. At least before he could tell himself to stop being an idiot, that it was just a dream, that there was no way everyone he had ever cared for would just drop dead. There was no way Peter, bright young Peter with so much ahead of him, would die. Not if there were anything he could do about it. 

 

There was no solace in pretending that things were okay when those nightmares were now burned onto the backs of his eyelids, playing over and over and over again every time his eyes shut for more than a minute at a time. Peter Parker was dead, gone, dissolved into nothingness, and there wasn’t a goddamn _thing_ Tony could do. Another sob came at that realisation and Tony stood up from the too soft bed, desperately gasping for breaths that wouldn’t come. Why even try to make them come anymore? Why even try to keep breathing, why try to keep going, when he’d let down the  _one_ person he’d sworn to never let down? That was all he did, all he was good for. Letting people down. No matter how hard he tried, how desperate he was to do good, he failed.

 

_I’ve failed everyone my entire life._

 

At that thought, Tony swore and kicked the bed frame, savouring the pain that shot up through his foot. That kick was followed by another, and then another, kicking and kicking at the wood until his foot was numb and he had no choice but stagger across the small room to lean on the wall for support. It wasn’t enough, though, and suddenly he was on the floor, back pressed against the wall and head thrown back. There was a sudden wetness tickling the tragus of his ear and hands quickly moved to eyes, rubbing hard as if that would erase the memories from his mind or stop the flood of tears that he had barely managed to hold back thus far. It wasn’t fair, none of this was fucking _fair._ Yes, Tony had lived long enough to know that life was hardly ever fair but this… this was _especially_ unfair. Peter was a kid. A _child._ Tony had tried to make him leave, given him the suit that would send him back, yet the kid had _still_ managed to stay on that space donut. Had still managed to die despite Tony doing everything he could to protect him.

 

He couldn’t stop staring at his hands.

 

Almost every single second of every single minute since Peter had disappeared in his arms, Tony spent staring at his hands, hoping that if he stared hard enough they would start to disappear before his eyes and Peter would come back, unarmed and safe and _alive_. Tony was supposed to keep him safe, protected, out of danger. He’d been more than willing to sacrifice himself a million times over for the boy and yet he hadn’t even had the opportunity. All Tony had been able to do was hold him while he cried, while he sounded younger and more afraid than he’d ever heard him.

 

What about the wizard? Strange had told them that this was the only way they could win. Out of fourteen million or however many options they had, _this_ was how they would win. Well, if this was what winning meant, Tony would have lost any of those other ways. Winning without Peter, without half of the fucking _universe_ … that wasn’t winning. Tony would have spent the rest of his life dying those fourteen million other ways to let Peter live if Strange hadn’t given up the time stone which really didn’t seem like winning anyway! How was giving up the stone in any way anything like or near winning? It was surrendering and it was bullshit. If Strange hadn’t dissolved just as Peter and the others had, Tony would have strangled him himself. Nothing made any sort of sense. Nightmare had merged with reality and it didn’t seem like there was any way to go back now.

 

If Tony had thought the floodgates had been unleashed before, he was wrong. Only at the realisation that his nightmares had truly become his reality did he break down completely for the first time since Titan, knees drawn tightly to his chest and face buried in his thighs as sobs shook his body to the core. The things he had tried to desperately to avoid had come true and it was just… the only way he could explain it was overwhelmingly sickening. There was no way all of his internal organs were all still in the right place. His stomach felt completely hollow and his chest completely tight, as if his digestive system was taken out and his respiratory system was tied in knots and both were shoved up his throat. Sobs lead to dry heaves which just led to more sobs which just led to more dry heaves, an endless cycle of pain that wasn’t anywhere near what he deserved. It wasn’t anywhere near what Peter must have felt that day. Tony deserved that pain, that fear, not Peter. Not a child, way out of his depth on another planet, fighting an intergalactic war he hadn’t signed up to be a part of. The little shit had wanted to be an Avenger so badly but it wasn’t meant to end like this. It wasn’t meant to _end._

 

Tony wasn’t unrealistically optimistic. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he’d consider himself an optimist period. Even then, he hadn’t imagined the battle ending like this. With half of the universe dead and him not one of those trillions of people. With Peter dead instead of him, the closest thing he would ever have to a son dead and gone. It would have been better for everyone else if it had been Tony to die instead. Peter had so much life, so much to offer. Tony hadn’t been the same since he’d died in space all alone.

 

How ironic, that Peter had gone the same way - in space, afraid - when he was meant to be everything Tony had never been.

 

The tears stopped abruptly then, along with his heart in his chest. _Peter was meant to be everything I wasn’t._ This couldn’t be how it ended. This _wouldn’t_ be how it ended. If Tony had learned anything over the time he had known the kid, it was that you had to take control of your own destiny. Peter had wanted to be an Avenger and goddamn it, he was going to do it. And he had managed, had inserted himself into the narrative and helped more than Tony was quite willing to give him credit for. Even if it had led to his death, Peter had done it and done it damn well.

 

Tony wanted Peter alive. He wanted to save those innocent people that Thanos had selfishly obliterated. He was going to find that stupid purple testicle and put him in his place if it was the last thing he ever did. Tony finally picked himself up off the ground, then, the sun barely flickering in through the shades of his window and making a perfect metaphor for the situation at hand. It was a new day, the sun had risen again, and Tony was going to get his hands on that stupid giant’s super gauntlet and bring back those who had died if it was the last thing he ever did.

 

It would probably be the last thing he ever did. Tony didn’t mind. The perfect way for the person who had failed so many times before to go, by finally doing the right thing. A real, faint smile touched his lips for the first time in as long as he could remember, and Tony was finally at peace.


End file.
